Sherlock Gets Loki'd
by ninjaloki
Summary: If London's famous detective and the notorious god of mischief must compete in an epic battle of wits... nobody, especially not John Watson, can predict what will happen. One-shot, Sherlock/Loki, implications of Johnlock.


*AUTHOR'S NOTE* Yaay, first fanfic ever! I'd really appreaciate constructive criticism (please don't be too harsh though lol). Please PLEASE review and let me know how I can improve! (not too sure how this website works; I've read but not published so sorry for any formatting issues/lack of summary) ENJOY :)

He rubbed his eyes exasperatedly and yelled, "Mrs. Hudson! If you could _please_—" he stopped. Sensing an unusual change in his surroundings, he opened his eyes and glanced around, observing everything in sight. There wasn't much. Twelve possibilities. It was a stark white environment and illuminated softly. No light source was to be found, only an ambient glow that seemed to come from everywhere, permeating everything. Eight possibilities. The floor underfoot was not soft, not hard; when he kneeled down to touch it, his fingers passed right through. Was this thing a room, or did it just go on? Five. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Two possibilities. One. His mind scrambled to conceive a logical explanation, but the one that made sense—well, it didn't. Confusion was not an emotion that often affected Sherlock Holmes. Brows furrowed, he called cautiously, "Mrs. Hudson? John?" There was only an echo.

Where was he? Frustration welled up inside him. He could not have been teleported to a magical room; that theory was absurd! He resumed his pacing and mused to himself. Conspiracy, imprisonment, drugs. It could only be magic. Or drugs. More likely the drugs. But magic... could it be?

His thoughts were interrupted when another figure melted into the white room.

"Thor, don't be daft! If I had—" the man quickly broke off his furious rant upon arrival. He looked sinister, dangerous, and clearly pissed off at this "Thor" person. He had an attractive, angular face with prominent cheekbones and a tall, Romanesque nose. Raven locks and a deathly pale complexion only added to his unnerving presence. Sherlock wasn't a man who scared easily, but the cold wildness in the newcomer's eyes truly gave him chills. The strange man scanned the room, searching curiously with emerald eyes.

Merely glancing at Sherlock for a fraction of a second, he glared at the white ceiling and shouted, "Hilarious. Thor! Odin! Enough with this ridiculous jest. Heimdall, open the Bifrost!"

There was no reply.

Sherlock watched, amused, as the man scowled and crossed his arms. His outdated attire, poised stance, that mischievous twinkle in his otherwise calculating eyes... He was a warrior first and foremost. Extremely physically able despite his apparent leanness, and very intellectually capable as well. He was a mischief-maker second. A trickster with a wide skill set and nimble fingers, if his hands were anything to judge by. But most prominent was his vulnerability. The confident carelessness radiating off the man was simply to mask an anxious and depressed individual. Curious. Magic was a possibility. If he didn't know better, taken in context with his ravings, this strange man was... "Loki?"

Loki's attention immediately zeroed in on Sherlock the moment he uttered a sound. He narrowed his green eyes, appraising the curly-haired, blue-eyed man silently. After a short, internal debate, he admonished, "Pathetic mortal. I do not answer to you. You are beneath me." He began to pace and muttered under his breath, "Intellectually-hampered apes. Incompetent."

Sherlock's irritation flared. Closing his eyes and quickly sorting through his mind palace, he picked out the information he wanted to use and began. "I know who you are."

Loki snorted. "Everybody knows who I am. International war criminal, rightful king of the Midgard…"

"Defeated by five American freaks?" Sherlock broke in.

Loki shot him a murderous glare. "The widow is technically Russian, imbecile."

But Sherlock pressed on. "Yes, I know who you are. You are not the would-be emperor of earth, nor are you as mighty as you presume. You are a disgrace, Loki Odinson (or shall I say Laufeyson?). A failure at everything, compared to your brother Thor. An unworthy second prince: a jealous, needy child with everything to prove and nothing to lose. Yet you call me pathetic."

He venomously spat the last few words at Loki, enjoying the genuine hurt that flashed through those clear emerald eyes. However, the hurt was fleeting and soon transformed into rage. Loki's face hardened, and his jeweled eyes took on such a piercing clarity that Sherlock began to regret his words. He had just antagonized a Norse _god_, curse his big mouth! Fear wracked him, though he gazed dispassionately back at Loki, challenging him to respond.

"Do not try me, mortal. I have lived thousands of years; your life, to me, is a fleeting heartbeat. Your 'wisdom' is absolutely nothing compared to the information I have gathered over my lifespan." Drawing closer, he hissed, "You think yourself so high and mighty? You, a drug addict who loves inhaling poison into his blackened lungs? You, a supposed 'force for good' in whatever little city you live in (London, judging by your reeking stench and your overpriced woman's coat). Oh, yes, I think I know exactly who you are. I keep a closer eye on mortals than you might imagine." He laughed brokenly and took another step towards Sherlock. "Do not pretend to know me. You know _nothing_, so you should _say nothing_."

His close presence nearly overwhelmed the detective. It took all his willpower not to take a step back—or forward.

Looking straight into the emerald eyes that were only inches from his, Sherlock raised his chin disdainfully and retorted, "Traitor. Snake. Any honor you might have held has been stripped from you the moment you betrayed your family, _Frost Giant._"

Loki's green eyes shone with remembered agony that the cruel words invoked. Placing his cool left hand on the side of Sherlock's neck, he flashed a wide smile brimming with pain and sorrow.

"Pity. You and I are not so much different. Both unloved and destined to be unloved."

The consulting detective swallowed (not too audibly, he hoped) and replied huskily, "Why is it a pity?"

Loki smelled lightly of musk, something of the forest. Sunshine and pine, perhaps. Refreshing. He merely smiled in reply and trailed a light path with his fingertips from Sherlock's neck to the top button on his collar. Goosebumps rose on Sherlock's neck where the disgraced prince touched him.

Flicking open the collar on his white shirt, Loki drew close and whispered into his ear, "I won't ruin this handsome face. But you will _burn _for what you said. Goodbye, _Sherlock Holmes_."

His seductive expression morphed into a vengeful one. He conjured up a small sphere of blinding white fire with his right hand and grasped the mortal's jaw in an iron grip with his left. Lips just barely brushing Sherlock's, he breathed intimately, "Open up."

Knowing that a concentrated ball of flame was about to be shoved down his esophagus and that he had only a few moments to live, Sherlock did the logical thing to do. He relaxed, closed his eyes, and kissed the striking god full on the lips.

Loki stiffened, surprised at the contact.

_This foolish, stupid, beautiful mortal… _

He couldn't do it. After all he had been through: Sigyn, Frandal, Tony, and now Holmes? He couldn't! Yet the temptation was too much to resist… giving in to his desire, the second prince quenched the flame he had conjured and closed his eyes, leaning into the full passion of the kiss. He ran his searching hands through the detective's curly hair, excited by the little moan Sherlock let out the moment he touched his skin.

Despite his desire, he couldn't resist having a little fun. He broke away and smirked at the detective. "Virgin. Oh, I am going to have such _fun _with you."

Without bothering to wait for a reply, he kissed his mortal more ferociously than before, aggressively exploring every inch of his detective's mouth with an experienced tongue. Sherlock was slightly clumsy at first, but he soon proved himself to be a natural. Slowly, the kisses grew longer and deeper. Loki's swift fingers nimbly tugged off his mortal's heavy coat, then unbuttoned his shirt ever so teasingly. He delighted in watching his pale, muscled chest heave with anticipation and desire.

Not wanting to miss out on any of the experience, Sherlock quickly stripped him of his embroidered tunic and soft leggings, leaving the god completely naked before him. He was truly glorious: lean body corded throughout with muscle without an inch of fat anywhere. Feeling daring and dominant, he pushed Loki down so that he was splayed on his back, spread-eagle. Then he hungrily kissed his way from his neck, down to his chest, down to his most sensitive area.

Loki groaned in approval and purred, "Eager are we, mortal?" Sherlock opened his mouth and eagerly took in all of the god's erection, nearly choking on the length of it. Loki's back arched, and he let out a moan of pleasure. Pleased at his reaction, Sherlock continued to move his head up and down, using his tongue to push and tease the areas he knew were most sensitive. Loki continued to make small noises of pleasure, reveling in the experience.

It really had been _that long_, and this virgin wasn't doing so badly.

However, he grew bored, as he always did.

Sitting upright, he grasped Sherlock's hair and pulled him up, licking the dribble of saliva that dripped from the corner of his mouth.

"Let's make things more… interesting."

Leaning in quickly so that the mortal fell back, Loki conjured up two pairs of cuffs and manhandled his detective until he was doggie-style, kneeling before the god with chained wrists and ankles. Now _this _was fun. He loved the slight alarm mixed in with lust in his Sherlock's steel blue eyes, enjoyed the gasp of pain he let out when he pulled on his detective's curly hair. This willing mortal was _such _a delight, so vulnerable and _pure_. He was going to have a great time violating him. Pressing the tip of his manhood against Sherlock's tight hole, he warned "Because this is your first time, it will hurt. Remember to relax. I know what I'm doing…"

With that statement, Loki slowly penetrated his mortal from the back. Sherlock's eyes widened; he couldn't help but to let out a gasp of pain. It was painful, but as the thrusts were gradually quickened, the sensation grew more and more pleasurable. Soon, he was moaning and writhing and begging for more, helpless under the prince's experienced hands. The god knew exactly where to grope, where to caress and where to grab to elicit maximal pleasure for his partner. He panted, sweat forming on his brow as Loki continued to thrust.

"Ohh… yes… faster!"

He could hear his panting, feel the trembles of pleasure inside him, and he knew that the god was ready to come. Sherlock clenched and was rewarded with a loud moan of pleasure. In his musical voice, raspy from the activity, Loki moaned between breaths, "Yes… I'm… ahh!" He thrust faster and harder, until…

Sherlock blinked. The sensations were still the same. He was still in bondage being completely violated (pleasurably) by a handsome god of mischief. But instead of in a mystical, glowing room, the two were now having sex in his living room back in Baker Street.

On the floor.

In front of a dumbfounded John Watson.

Loki, seemingly not noticing anything wrong, finally came. His back arched and eyes squeezed shut, letting out a suppressed groan as he spilled his seed inside Sherlock. Giving the detective a few last satisfying thrusts before withdrawing, he opened his eyes and finally noticed the surroundings. His mouth opened and closed for a few times in disbelief when he noticed the gaping John, for once appearing at a loss of words.

Snapping his fingers, the god of mischief clothed himself instantly in a simple collared shirt and jeans, looking like a regular British citizen. He glanced down at the bound and trussed Sherlock that he was banging just a few moments ago and cleared his throat to address John.

"I assure you, what we did was simply no-commitment. You may have your partner back."

The flustered god strode out the door without a second glance. John still stood where he was, still staring at naked Sherlock in complete and utter incredulity. The detective himself was also at a loss of words.

Attempting to right himself from his doggie position, he began, "John. I assure you that—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Loki appeared once more. A black leather whip in hand, he turned to John and handed it to him.

"Sherlock Holmes here has been _awfully_ naughty. He could do with a good punishment." The god of mischief smirked and vanished as quickly as he came. The detective, now feeling uncomfortably vulnerable in his position, eyed the whip nervously.

"John, I want to apologize and warn you against any rash decision that might be forming in your head right now."

The ex-militant, still staring at the whip, began to smile deviously.

"John…?"

"Yes, Sherlock. You _have _been awfully naughty."


End file.
